


The Art to Life's Distractions

by LogicalBookThief



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asthmatic Steve Rogers, Deaf Clint Barton, F/F, F/M, Gen, Idiots in Love, M/M, Meet-Cute, References to Past Child/Spousal Abuse, That's it, art teacher!steve, mentions of depression, references to past torture, secret agent!Bucky, that's basically the plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 08:39:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4256751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicalBookThief/pseuds/LogicalBookThief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While picking up Nat and Clint’s daughter from school, Secret Agent Bucky Barnes meets the elementary art teacher, aka the most gorgeous man he’s ever laid eyes on. </p><p>All Steve Rogers sees is a ruffled, attractive man grinning at him like a maniac.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art to Life's Distractions

**Author's Note:**

> My first Stucky story, so here goes nothing. I'm excited yet nervous, so please tell me what you think down below!
> 
> And PLEASE check out the amazing piece of art that inspired this fic, made by the talent inediblesushi over on tumblr: http://inediblesushi.tumblr.com/post/117304182726/ok-ok-ok-but-elementary-school-art-teacher-steve
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nada.

 

James Buchanan Barnes was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. And that wasn’t even an exaggeration.

First thing this morning, what does his water heater decide to do? Have a hissy fit and break and spray _freezing_ cold water onto his back mid-scrub. Then on his way to work, Bucky lost his coffee to a swerving bike messenger, and received a myriad of dirty looks from a few uppity pedestrians who heard him swear for a full five minutes afterwards.

But no, the icing on the cake came now, as Agent Barnes – as he was known in the field – sprinted after the mastermind behind a minor drug cartel. The real kick in the teeth was that this particular drug cartel wasn’t even a large, looming threat to SHIELD and hadn’t been much of a challenge to dismantle; it just so happened that the head of _this_ cartel had information on the bigger, badder cartels that Bucky’s people wanted. So they sent him to capture the guy, who as it turned out, could run pretty damn fast with whom he thought were the Feds on his tail.

 _Too many bystanders. Damn it._ Bucky cursed his infamous luck as he sprinted past streams of people, shelfing the urge to take his gun and simply shoot his quarry in the leg; there was no way he could risk it on a busy street.

Probably thinking he was clever – or believing that Bucky had the coordination of a grizzly bear, for Christ’s sake – the guy swung into the alleyway ahead. Being at the end of the block, Bucky turned, planning to cut him off at the other end.

They met in a frenzied clash of limbs, but Bucky’s superior mass sent the other guy sprawling onto his ass, hard. To his credit, he didn’t stay down. When it was clear he wouldn’t be escaping, he lashed out at Bucky, sloppy, like a cornered animal, yanking a knife from his belt.

Bucky felt a stinging sensation glide past his cheek but ignored the sharp prick, adrenaline pumping, and grabbed the man’s wrist, _twisting_ , until he heard the satisfying crack of pain. With this distraction, Bucky made swift work of subduing the target, sending him crumpling to the ground.

“Agent Barnes?” the voice of some rookie agent they sent to observe or assist him in the field came crackling through his earpiece. “What’s your status?”

“Perp in custody,” Bucky puffed over the secure line. “Hope you were paying attention, junior, ‘cause that was the best lesson in ass-kicking you’re likely to receive this week.”

“Duly noted, sir,” the agent parroted back. “On my way: ETA three minutes.”

Using those minutes to catch his breath, Bucky let the adrenaline flow from his body, slowly coming down off his high. It was then, without the extra endorphins to keep his thoughts busy, that he remembered the sting of his left cheek from where the perp’s knife had grazed him. A few inches closer to his face and that blade might’ve gone straight through his skull.

“Fuck,” he seethed, glaring down at the would-be murderer. “You could have _killed_ me, fucker!”

The perp stared at Bucky, blinking incredulously.

Alright, so maybe that _was_ the point. But the guy didn’t have to be an asshole about it. Just for that, Bucky smacked him with the butt of his gun, knocking some manners into him. Then, with nothing left to do but revel in his victory, Bucky holstered his weapon, basking in the triumph of a job well done.

Which was, of course, the exact moment he remembered that he promised to get Nat and Clint’s daughter from school today. Forty minutes ago.

_Shit, shit, shit._

Bubble effectively busted, Bucky grabbed his disoriented prisoner, heading for the mouth of the alley.

“Hey, Agent Barnes, what’re you doing!?” demanded the junior agent, who had just arrived.

“Got an appointment,” he barked over his shoulder, shoving the perp in the rookie’s direction. “You can handle the rest, can’t ya? I left you the easy part! Bag ‘em and gag ‘em!”

The agent said something snarky in reply, but Bucky didn’t have time for such nonsense. There would be blood if Natasha was told that he had abandoned her precious bundle of joy…

He raced through the streets, breaking several traffic laws in the process, but made it to the school with himself and his car intact (which was all that really mattered). Lucky for him, the office was a straight shot from the entrance, so that’s where he went, bringing him face-to-face with the sour-faced secretary at the front desk.

“May I help you?” she questioned, sounding interested in doing anything but.

Pouring on the usual charm, Bucky smiled and nodded, real gentleman-like. “Hi, my name is James Barnes,” he informed. “I’m supposed to be picking up Alyssa Romanov-Barton.”

She gave Bucky a cool once-over, as if he was the slob of a boyfriend her daughter brought home for dinner.

“You’re an hour late,” she said waspishly, and it took all Bucky’s willpower to keep his plastic smile in place.

“I am aware,” he replied placidly. “Had a little trouble navigating the…traffic.”

The woman made a ‘hmm’ noise, indicating that she could care less for his excuses, before going quiet, offering no further help. Bucky could feel his blood vessels constricting out of pure frustration.

“Is Alyssa _here?”_ he prompted.

“No,” she answered, as if he should’ve known better. “She opted to wait for her ride in the art room.”

By this point, Bucky was grinding his teeth just to keep from yelling, never mind courtesy. “And where might that be?”

“Room 208A.”

“Thanks,” said Bucky brusquely, although that answer told him squat. But wandering around the first floor halls like a blind man in a blizzard was better than staying one more minute in that woman’s company.

After ten minutes of fruitless searching, he finally found the elusive Room 208A. “I’m here!” he announced as he barged right in, breathless from his search. “Sorry I’m late, I–”

He stopped short, catching a glimpse of the room’s single occupant. Bucky gaped at the tall, gorgeous example of humanity that stood before him. Messy blond hair framed the face of an absolute, goddamn _angel,_ complete with blue eyes that could put the clearest summer sky to shame. The only thing that rang absurd about his appearance was the apron covered in colorful splashes of paint.

“Hello,” Bucky managed, snapping his jaw shut. Shit, he should really stop staring. At some point. Soon.

“Hi,” returned the blonde, offering a friendly smile.

“I, uh,” Bucky fumbled, momentarily devoid of words. Obviously this was God’s way of making up for his super shitty day, and he couldn't bear to see it squandered.

He straightened, smoothing the crinkles out of his suit. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” said Bucky suavely, suddenly all charm and poise. “My name is James Barnes. But most people call me Bucky.”

“Okay,” said the blonde, like he didn’t know how else to respond, polite smile still in place. “I’m Steve Rogers, the art teacher.” He glanced down at his paint-covered apron, shrugging bashfully. “I guess that’s rather obvious.”

Bucky grinned rapturously, still staring. _Fuck it._ “Yeah. Speaking of which, you have little…ah, right there?”

Steve mirrored Bucky’s gesture with an expression of perplexity, touching the tip of his nose, eyes widening when he found the splotch of purple paint there. The color contrasted with the pink blush that spread across his face.

It was fucking adorable.

“So do you, um,” Steve murmured, and Bucky frowned, brushing his fingers against his cheek and oh, yeah, that was blood, probably from when the perp’s knife had grazed him.

Rushing into an elementary school with clothes mussed and face bleeding must’ve made him look like a lunatic, so Bucky opted to tell a little fib. “Nicked myself shaving this morning. Must’ve re-opened when I wasn’t looking.”

“Want a band-aid?” Steve inquired. “They’re TMNT, as per the request of my students.”

Bucky laughed, declining with a good-natured, “Pass.”

An awkward silence ensued, not that Bucky bothered to notice, too absorbed in the light dusting of freckles he discovered ran over the bridge of Steve’s nose when you focused hard enough.

Finally, Steve cleared his throat, daring to breach the bubble of tension. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Barnes?”

“What?” Bucky surfaced from his stupor, surprised at his own forgetfulness. “Oh, yeah, ‘course. I’m here to pick up Alyssa.”

On cue, who should trudge into the room but Alyssa, twin red braids swaying with each step she took. She went to one of the art tables where a _Brave_ backpack that Bucky recognized as hers lay. Steve, Bucky belatedly realized, must have offered to keep an eye on her until her ride arrived so she wouldn’t have to be cooped up in the office with only the cranky secretaries for company. As if he wasn’t already cute, now he was cute _and_ thoughtful.

“Alyssa, do you know this man?” Steve asked her, which okay, fair enough. Bucky huffed. Never could be too careful, sure; but he didn’t look _that_ deranged, did he?

“Yep. That’s my Uncle Bucky. He’s supposed to pick me up from school today,” Alyssa told him matter-of-factly. Then she glared straight at Bucky, eyes narrowing. “He’s _late.”_

Bucky swallowed. She looked too damn much like Natasha with that expression on her face. “Sorry about that, pip. Will ice cream make up for it?”

Alyssa considered it for a minute before nodding, appeased. Grabbing her backpack, she began gathering her books to leave. Meanwhile Steve, who had apparently been watching the exchange, chuckled. It was as glorious a noise as Bucky expected. “You’ll spoil her dinner, you know.”

“Well, it won’t win me any brownie points with her mother, but at least one of ‘em will like me again,” Bucky shrugged, drawing another laugh from Steve. Bucky could wring a million of those soft, mirthful sounds out of him and it still wouldn’t be enough.

 _Jesus Christ, Barnes, careful before you start mooning again,_  he mentally reproached. _What are you, some junior high virgin? Get a grip._

Alyssa provided a welcome distraction, sidling to Bucky’s side with her pack slung over her shoulder. “Ready?” he asked, smiling down at her.

“Been ready for an hour,” she mumbled, causing his face to fall.

 _Better get her two scoops or I’ll never hear the end of it._ Turning to Steve, he felt his throat tighten, uncertain of how he should end the encounter. Part of him wanted to throw caution to the wind and ask for his number. Another part warned him against coming on too strong. The part directly opposed to that course of action was in favor of bending him over the nearest flat surface and–

“ _So_ ,” Bucky coughed, willing his libido away.

Steve, who seemed to have no such qualms, extended a hand. “Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Barnes,” he said, so very professional-like, yet with an amiability that conveyed how genuinely pleased he was.

Quick to reciprocate, Bucky shook his hand. And if he lingered a moment too long, Steve didn’t mention it.

.

 

.

 

.

Inevitably, Bucky was invited to stay for dinner at the Romanov-Barton household, which Natasha was grabbing from their favorite Italian place on her way home. That left the coast clear for a while, as Clint was currently engrossed in a recorded hockey game he missed while on a mission in Paraguay the week before, and would be too caught up in the action to notice his scheming.

So Bucky took his chance, taking a seat next to Alyssa as she attended to her homework at the island counter they called a dining room table.

“Alyssa, _sweetie,”_ he began, laying it on real thick, “would you like it if I picked you up from school again…” He quickly calculated the next time he’d have a free afternoon. “…this Thursday?”

“I guess,” she answered noncommittally, clearly not caring either way.

_Way to boost the ego, kiddo._

“Great,” said Bucky enthusiastically. “Now, ask your daddy if I can.”

Unfortunately, that was what finally piqued her attention, and she disregarded the math to furrow her brown in his direction. “Why?”

“Because if you do,” Bucky managed, pasting an innocent smile on his face, “you will be doing your favorite uncle a huuuge favor.”

Alyssa leveled him with a dull stare before declaring, “I’ll do it for ice cream.”

Bucky groaned. “Kid, you are killin’ my wallet.”

“No ice cream, no deal,” Alyssa replied flatly, with all the seriousness of an honest-to-God pawnbroker, and holy shit did this eight-year-old have a poker face.

He always knew any child of Nat and Barton’s would be as frightening as it was cute.

“Fine!” he acquiesced, against his pride and better judgment. Alyssa smiled – a pleased, childlike expression – yet all Bucky saw was the kitten that had caught its first mouse, purring with delight.

Without missing a beat, she hopped off the stool and casually walked to where Clint was reclined on the couch. “Daddy,” she said sweetly, batting those pretty little eyes at Clint, “can Uncle Bucky pick me up from school again on Thursday?”

Mutely, Bucky groaned, even though Phase 1 of his plan seemed thus far a guaranteed success. But bribing second graders was a new low, even for him. If Natasha found out, she would be thoroughly unimpressed. And if Barton found out, he would literally never hear the end of it. Humiliation galore.

But for Steve Rogers, Bucky had a feeling it’d be worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Food for Thought: First Impressions was the original title for Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. It's not really relevant to anything, but I love Pride and Prejudice, and it's where I got the idea for this chapter's title. 
> 
> Food for Thought #1.5: Title of the story comes from the Hozier song, Someone New. 
> 
> Food for Thought #2: Isn't Clint and Nat's daughter having a Brave backpack just the most perfect thing ever?


End file.
